


Child of Night and Starlight

by Ryzaphelle



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryzaphelle/pseuds/Ryzaphelle
Summary: Dying on the battlefield, Dorian Havilliard never expected to travel between universes, and the next thing he knows he's surrounded by friends and family he had never even thought of having. He learns that he's the heir to a court of dreams and stars, and that his parents - this true parents - had been looking for him for over half a millennia.But it's not as if he can forget the world he was raised in, and the hell it was going through.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Here’s a tog/acotar crossover nobody asked for yet here I am! Anyway, the headcanon for Dorian being revealed as Feyre and Rhys’ child has been nagging at my mind lately so I was inspired to write this as a way to blow off steam.
> 
> I just want to see Dorian happy, is that too much to ask?

The sky was ironically blue for a time like this. Dully, he could hear the clash of swords, the whoosh of magic, and the wet splash of blood. However, none of this bothered him, simply content to watch the clouds as they floated by.

Someone shouted his name. He couldn't tell who nor where the voice came from, but he was more concerned for the throbbing in his side and the warm pool slowly spreading beneath him.

Dorian Havilliard was dying.

He felt it in the way his vision grew black at the edges, the harsh breath in his lungs, the thoughts scattered throughout his mind.

A ripple in the sky drew his attention back to reality - though he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating. The world seemed to rip open, a black and unfathomable void looming beyond the tear, and a figure stepped from the rift.

It appeared female, short, but dangerous. Power dripped off of it like venom from a snake, and as she neared, her face came into view. Piercing silver eyes regarded him curiously, then a smile bloomed on her rouged lips, as if greeting an old friend.

“I leave you for five hundred years and you end up in this mess?”

~  _ Feyre  _ ~

I clutched the bundle in my arms to my chest and the baby let out a little yawn, opening his bright blue eyes for just a moment. I smiled, it was hard not to get entranced; he was only a few hours old but he was already becoming a favourite of the court.

But soon he’d have to leave.

“They’re closing in around our court,” said my husband and mate from behind me, shutting the door to the library with a slight creak. He drew close, wrapping an arm around myself and our son, and pressed a kiss to my temple. Wearily, he continued with a sigh, “We don’t have much time.”

I felt my eye begin to well up. “I-I know...I just…” Letting out a heavy breath, I brushed a thumb over the baby’s soft cheek, he stirred slightly but quickly drifted off back to sleep again.

“I know,” Rhys’ voice hitched, and he hugged us tighter, resting his head against mine as we gazed upon our little boy.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips at a sudden thought. “He still needs a name,” I said softly, the tears threatening to fall now.

Lightning flashed outside, followed by a crash of thunder, but the baby did not stir. There was a storm raging outside, a great storm that threatened to tear the world apart as it was accompanied by the armies of millions hunting for fae blood - and the small bundle in our arms.

“Dorian,” I whispered.

“What?” Rhys asked softly.

“I want to name him Dorian,” I replied with certainty.

Rhys kissed my head again and smiled against my hair. “That’s a lovely name,” he marvelled, coming around me to kiss Dorian upon his little head. “So it shall be,” he finalised.

“Don’t get Amren just yet,” I said hastily, panicking. Dorian had only just been born, I didn’t want him taken away from me so quickly - call it motherly instinct, I just didn’t want him to go.

“I know, Feyre,” he sniffed, “but the King is coming for him, we need to get him to safety.” Gently, he brushed his fingers over Dorian’s round ears. “At least we know he’ll fit in,” he added, evoking another bitter smile from my lips.

“Just- Just one more minute.”

“Yes, just one more.”

~

Rifthold was blessed with a cruel storm.

The slums were completely obliterated, the rich and powerful found themselves with flooded homes, and even the unbreakable glass monstrosity that served as a castle shook with fear. 

The King and Queen of this land were greeted in the middle of the night by a short, demonic woman in a dark cloak. Her rouged lips curled up in a venomous smile as her sharp nails held aloft a small bundle of blanket and baby.

The Queen gasped at what was being offered, having failed at conception for too long a time. The King needed heirs and this child, this way of salvation, brought tears to his eyes. A demon writhed beneath his skin but it was taken aback and banished at the raw power this child possessed. 

The baby opened it’s bright, sapphire eyes and the King and Queen gasped at the sheer, undiluted majesty radiating off of him.

Cautiously, the King stepped from his throne and slowly made his way to the foreign woman and the baby she carried. She bowed her head as he took the bundle from her arms, muttering his name like a prayer with strict instructions to keep him as safe as possible, his parents would return soon to take him back.

Tears threatening to fall, the King gazed down at his new son and heir, christening the name for himself - unbeknownst that the very child he held would be the downfall of his father’s mortal body and the glass castle he’d call home for twenty years.

 


	2. What is a home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took waaaaay too long to write.  
> But then again I've been doing NaNoWriMo this month so I haven't had the motivation to write any fanfiction.  
> Thanks so much for the support so much and enjoy~

~  _ Dorian _ ~

 

I woke to the harsh beat of sunlight against my eyelids, a faint breeze brushed my hair across my forehead, and I smelled the salty scent of the sea.

It was this sleepy euphoria between unconsciousness and the real world that elicited from me a sigh of contentment. I snuggled deeper into the bed I lay in, the sheets were soft against my skin but it didn't feel familiar in the sense that I had slept in it before. It wasn't one of the cold, hard cots of the war camp, neither was it my luxurious bed in Rifthold. But it carried with it a scent of home, if home even had a smell. And here, it was easy to forget all my troubles a woes.

And the gaping wound in my side, killing me slowly.

Sitting bolt upright, I expected to feel a stab of pain in my side, but there was nothing, only the ache of exhaustion. More alarmingly, I found myself in a vast, foreign bedchamber. It was splashed with deep reds and purples, but the silken bed I was sat in was of purest black. The clothes I had been put in were not the war-torn leathers and armor but a soft shirt and a pair of trousers. And I did not ache of bruises and cuts, as they had been fully healed along with the previously gaping and fatal wound at my side.

“Any longer on that battlefield and you could've died,” a voice said from beside me, I looked over to see a man - or rather, fae male - lounging in the plush armchair to the left of my four-poster bed. Everything about him from his features to his way of dress radiated darkness and nighttime of which usually held connotations of fear, but I felt soothed in this darkness, it felt familiar. His blue-black hair shone in the light of the sunrise, but most striking were his eyes; a vibrant violet containing thousands of faraway galaxies, stars that you yearned to touch.

A million questions ran through my mind, confusingly so, but the one that softly left my lips was, “Who are you?”

The fae smiled, warmly, and his eyes twinkled in the sunlight. “I,” he began, “am Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court,” he pronounced, waving his hand with a slight flourish, stars and darkness trailing in its wake.

My eyes fell to the floor to ceiling windows, and the lightening sky beyond. Night Court? “But it's day,” I said dumbly.

He chuckled slightly at that then replied, “That may be so,” something sparkled in his eye, “but our nights are spectacular.”

Even in foreign territory, with a foreign man in front of me, I still felt a slight smile pull at my lips. Something about this place put me at ease, I didn't know whether to like it or be wary of it.

I chose another question. “You saved me. Why?” Was I not fated to die on that battlefield? A part of me felt guilty for living, I was supposed to die with my countrymen, that is what a good king would do.

And what was happening now? Was the war over? Were Aelin and the others still alive? Did they win? Or did Erawan finally take over? Was there no Adarlan to rule and protect anymore? Was-?

“Stop with all the questions, Dorian, my weary, thousand-year old mind can only take so much,” Rhysand half glared, half chuckled at me.

I scowled. How did he know my name? And I'd only asked one question.

“No, you asked half a billion,” he interrupted my thoughts, watching my confused state with an amused gaze. He tapped his temple as he said, “Daemati, that means I can read your thoughts, and much, much more. In answer to your spoken question, and the reason I know your name,” he paused, and his features took on a more serious expression. Even as he lounged in the armchair, there was a tenseness to him that set me on edge, not to mention the new-found knowledge of his abilities as a telepath. “You are very important to me, Dorian, to us. For half a millennia we have been looking for you, and we never stopped looking. All that time but there was never a day I didn't love you.” My brow furrowed, I didn't even know him yet he had an unyielding desire to know me. “For you see…” he trailed off, looking everywhere but my eyes for a moment. When he looked up once again, the force of his anguish and honesty hit me like a blow to the chest, “you are my son.”

I felt the world crumble beneath me.

Leaping from the bed, I tried to put as much distance between this man and myself. “This is a trick,” I snarled. “An illusion, meant to placate me.” My hands flew to my neck, but my fingertips found only skin, but that didn’t mean the collar wasn’t there. This could have all been a dream. Ice began to coat the room, crawling like a parasite towards the stranger who claimed to be my father.

Usually, I could control my outbursts, but now there was no reason to.

From across the room, I grabbed the fae by the neck, slightly startled at how easy it was. “My father?” I spit, hauling him into the air, a Valg in disguise. “My father was a piece of shit hell-bent on taking over the entire world! No matter who he had to hurt…” my voice hitched, and I gripped his neck tighter. He struggled beneath my hold, wind whipping through the room, lashing at him. “Or kill.”

I was prepared to snap his neck right then and there, but the sound of the door blowing open gave me pause.

In ran a girl, blue black hair, light brown skin, and grey eyes. She looked young, very young, but her pointed ears gave her away as one of the immortal fae. Her gaze swept from the one frozen in the air - no longer choking now that I had relaxed my grip - to me, and not a minute passed before I felt sharp claws caress the edges of my mind, before sinking right into it.  _ Let him go,  _ they whispered.

Chills running down my spine, I obeyed the claws, and the fae dropped to the floor, gasping for air. I squeezed my eyes shut until I felt the claws retract, and I collapsed to the floor. What a violation, it felt so horrible, so intrusive. I forced myself to take deep breaths before my ice could swallow the room whole. Slowly, the temperature returned to the room and I felt the curious, pitiful eyes of the duo across the room.

“What did you  _ say  _ to him, father?” the younger one hissed.

“I just told him the truth…” the other replied, almost in disbelief. “I didn’t realise he’d gone through so much trauma…”

“Didn’t Amren-”

“Didn’t anyone tell you that it’s quite rude to talk about people as if they aren’t standing right next to you?” I cut in lifting my head to glare at the pair of...fae.

The younger one snorted, putting a hand on her hip as she regarded me with a raised eyebrow. “Well, forgive me,  _ your Majesty, _ ” she address sarcastically. “But you are not “right” next to us. You are on the  _ floor _ , in the  _ corner _ , furthest  _ away _ from us.”

“Celeste, don’t be mean,” my so-called father scolds.

Celeste scoffed, turning to glare at her father. “Don’t be mean?  _ Don’t be mean!?  _ He could’ve fucking killed you, father!”

“Yes, and let’s not mention that to your mother when she gets home,” Rhysand replied. He then turned to me, his violet eyes sad. “Are you willing to be civil with us?”

Celeste stared at me too.

I nodded slowly, but my scowl didn’t relent.


	3. A Star Reluctant to Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated, yay! Both before and after Christmas was very busy for me, I got distracted from my writing and...yeah. Now I've got a writing schedule so one if not all my ongoing fics should be updated every weekend!
> 
> I also just want to say that writing in Dorian's pov as first person is like crawling into his brain and it's a strange experience so hopefully I get used to that
> 
> Enjoy~

The meal was tense.

The food itself - breakfast - was very lavish and enticing, but my trust for these people was still very thin, merely eating small bites of meats and breads after dissecting them thoroughly with my knife and fork.

Celeste huffed and her cutlery clattered onto her place. “If we wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. Not that we want to kill you anyway considering that you’re this family’s long lost son and brother.”

“ _ Celeste, _ ” Rhysand warned from where he sat at the head of the table, my...sister...and I seated either side of him.

Celeste reigned in her temper and sat back in her chair, scowling at me below lowered eyebrows. I decided I wasn’t hungry anymore, and sat back too. “I had a family,” I relented, but more so a slap in the face of their claims of kinship. “My father was a sick bastard who used and abused me to get what he wanted, my mother was a coward whose only aspiration for me was to find a wife, and my brother,” I glared at Celeste as I said my next few words. “My brother was hellspawn who was an absolute  _ delight _ compared to you,  _ dear sister _ -”

Taking the bait, she launched herself across the table at me, with a growl and a knife. The blade was but a few centimetres from my neck when the claws came back...only, this time, they were gentler. I couldn’t move and neither could Celeste.

“This is not how I pictured our family reunion,” Rhysand sighed, abandoning his plate and dropping his head in his hands. In addition to the bitter thoughts from both of us, he groaned some more and got up, waving a hand at the table as the food disappeared.

Then the doors opened and a figure strolled in. She was too busy fiddling with the gloves on her fingers to notice the scene before her as she rambled, “Ugh, Kier was such a pain today. Constantly asking when Celeste will come to visit the Court of Nightmares since she’d be successor to our throne and I said that it might not very well  _ be  _ Celeste taking over, considering that-”

The woman stopped in her tracks when she looked up to see the fight over the dinner table. Her jaw dropped when her eyes fell on me, and the spell was only broken when Rhysand spoke. “Feyre,” he greeted slowly, “this is our son ... Dorian.”

Still holding her dumbfounded expression, the woman - Feyre, my mother - spoke again, softly, trying to piece together the situation. “H-how long has he been awake?”

“A couple of hours, darling,” he replied.

“So, you’re telling me,” she said slowly, face coming back to life, “that  _ my  _ son has only been awake for  _ two hours, _ ” her eyebrows drew inwards, and her lips pulled back to reveal sharp teeth, “and Celeste is already trying to fucking  _ kill _ him!?” She let out a loud growl of frustration and began pacing in front of us.

It took a while for Rhysand to reply, clearly afraid of this woman that also seemed to be his lover. “...Yes…”

“Take your hold off them both,” Feyre commanded, feigning calm, still pacing. “I want to talk to my son, and I’ll deal with  _ you  _ later,” she added, pointing a cruel finger at Celeste.

Rhysand released his hold on the two of us and I jumped away, missing the knife’s blade as Celeste recovered and started babbling excuses. “Mother, it was his fault! He’s been nothing but horrid to us the whole time he’s been awake! He almost killed father!” she pointed furiously at me as she rambled, earning her a glare from her father.

          Feyre halted her pacing and looked from Celeste to myself to Rhysand, then shook her head. “I don't want to hear it. Just get out, the pair of you,” she commanded with a sigh, putting her hands on her hips as the others left. The dress she wore was quite lavish and revealing compared to the fashion Celeste wore, though maybe it was a matter of differing tastes.

She followed my line of sight and let out an exasperated “Oh,” before waving her hand. With that gesture, the dress seemed to mist away and turn into something else; the vast number of tiny jewels became chiffon, the night black fabric became sunset pink, and the dress itself became a pair of loose trousers and flowing top that left her midriff bare.

“Less terrifying, I hope?” she asked me once the transformation was complete, she sat down across from me where Celeste had been previously, and the food once again appeared on the table.

I didn’t answer at first, assessing whether or not this woman was trustworthy, not that I trusted anyone I’d met here so far. Starting slowly towards the table, I instead asked, “Why is it that you have to wear that costume?”

Even as she casually loaded her plate with pancakes, there was a hard set to her shoulders and their was an ever-so-small shake to her hands. As she spoke, I wondered why she was so nervous. “Rhys didn’t tell you much about me, did he?” Her expression became sarcastic. “No, it’s not as if I birthed you, did I?” She shook her head as I came to sit down, she put me at ease where Celeste was all hostility and Rhysand was all mystery. 

“I’m the High Lady of the Night Court,” she continued, introducing herself. “But you can call me Feyre, and...maybe someday, your mother.” She avoided my eyes as she suggested this, cutting her pancakes into small bites.

“But as for the costume, this court is split into two halves; the Court of Dreams which is what you have experienced here,” she explained, gesturing around the dining room and a place beyond these walls, “and the Court of Nightmares which resides under a mountain where all the horrid people of our court live.”

_ Sounds like my father’s old court, _ I thought which elicited a raised eyebrow from the woman opposite me. She was a telepath too, it seemed.

“Rhys and I rule both halves, sometimes together, sometimes separately. But for the Court of Nightmares we don a cruel, merciless mask all the same.” Her grey-blue eyes found mine and her smile was genuine. “Speaking of masks, something tells me you’ve had to wear a few yourself. You’re wearing one right now.”

I was taken aback at how perceptive she was but I kept my gaze level with hers. 

“What happened to you to make you so untrusting?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

I barely knew this woman who claimed to be my mother, I could kill her in an instant; cut off her airways, freeze her heart, launch her out the nearest window. After all, the ones I love and trust are gods’ know where, and I still have no idea where  _ I  _ am.

“I was dying on the battlefield,” I relented, my eyes falling to my hands that fidgeted in my lap. “An ancient evil had woken in our world and wanted it all to himself. Myself and others from neighbouring kingdoms, kings and queens and courtesans and servants, we had all banded together to stop the evil. Only I and a dear friend had the power to stop it once and for all, so when the short woman with the silver eyes-”

“Amren,” Feyre interjected.

“Amren,” I pronounced, then continued, “When she came for me...I thought it was Erawan- I thought he was coming to kill me…

“When I woke up, I forgot what had happened. My-  _ He  _ was there and when he said he was my father…”

Feyre got up and came around the table to sit next to me. She cautiously reached out  a hand and, when she was sure I wouldn’t resist, took my hand in hers. I realised that they had gone red from where I had been rubbing them.

She looked only a little older than I was, yet her eyes looked as though they’d seen a million sunrises and a thousand battles. “You’re safe now, Erawan can’t hurt you here.”

“What if this is all a Valg trick?” I asked, more voice coming out in a whisper, hardly insinuating anything, the cries of a lost boy.

Her fingers reached up to smooth back my hair and her palm came down to cup my cheek. “You’ll just have to trust me, us, your family.”

I considered her for a moment; wondering what she could be thinking. My brain nagged at me to be wary, but...I was just so tired of worrying, at constantly looking over my shoulder, and it sounded like a dream come true to have a family that loved me, something that I had never experienced.

A small smile pulled at my lips and I turned to the food on the table, my stomach giving an angry growl in response. “What do the pancakes taste like?”

Feyre smiled and followed my gaze. “Like heaven,” she replied.


End file.
